


The other Gautier brother

by HylianDaydreamer



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abusive Miklan (Fire Emblem), Bad Parenting, Bad Sibling Miklan (Fire Emblem), Brotherhood, Brothers, Bullying, Child Abuse, Childhood, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Miklan Being an Asshole (Fire Emblem), Miklan’s POV, Pre-Canon, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Punching, The Lance of Ruin (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), teenage years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HylianDaydreamer/pseuds/HylianDaydreamer
Summary: Let’s step into the villain’s shoes and see the perspective from Miklan’s eyes, hm?Fragments of Miklan’s life with his younger, much more adored, brother Sylvain and his struggle of being seen. Starting their childhood and ending with... well, you know.Written under 24 hours and on my phone, so please be kind. <3
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Miklan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	The other Gautier brother

He had waited with little patience to meet his little sibling that had been growing inside his mother’s belly for so many moons and now, finally, he was being led by a maid to his mother’s bed. Shyly, he observed his mother’s tired face from the doorway but got excited immediately when she noticed his presence and smiled gently at him. He let go off the maid’s hand and ran the short distance to his mother, already focused on the small wrapping of cloth in her arms.

“It’s your brother, Miklan” she said with a tired but gentle voice and shifted her arms slightly so he could get a better view. Inside the bundle of clean fabrics was a baby with pink skin and red, soft curls, just in the same shade as his own. “Say hi to your baby brother” she encouraged. He looked curiously at him with large eyes.

“When can I play with him?” he asked his mother instead. She chuckled and said, “Soon, but he’s very tired right now. We must let him rest.”

And so, Miklan continued waiting with little patience for that day to come. But it took only a week for his father to inform him that he was no longer the heir to House Gautier, and his attention, and mother’s and all the maids’, were suddenly directed at his brother who looked so much like him.

Miklan decided that he wasn’t interested in playing with his brother anymore.

* * *

His baby brother’s eyes were no longer blue but amber, like his own, and they were focused on him as he demonstrated with a wooden toy sword all the tricks he had been taught. If no one else paid him attention, then he would at least make Sylvain watch him and understand how great his older brother could be. He had even lent him his favorite stuffed animal for the day after mother had persuaded him to.

But then, little Sylvain stood up on his wobbly legs and began to take uneven steps, seemingly bored of watching his older brother swing his arms. He was drooling terribly, and he brought up the stuffed animal to his mouth to soothe the aching in his new teeth. The sight made Miklan angry.

“You don’t get to do that, it’s _mine!_ ” he yelled and grabbed the animal with enough force to rip it from Sylvain’s hand and make him loose balance and fall. He immediately began to cry and every adult’s gaze fell on them.

Miklan could hear his father’s footsteps quickly approach them. “Stupid boy!” he scolded and swatted Miklan’s head before taking the animal from him. “Give him back his toy!”

When Miklan tried to protest, he was silenced with a hard slap on his cheek.

He watched his baby brother bring the stuffed animal back into his wet mouth and stopped his crying soon after.

Miklan was furious.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Miklan to see the connection; if he hurt Sylvain, their parents would finally care about what he was doing and look at him.

They were sparring, and being older and stronger than Sylvain, Miklan had been told to go easy on his brother so he’d get a chance to practice.

It bored him tremendously to act as some kind of dummy for his precious brother swing a lance at.

“Come on, can’t you do better than that?” he provoked him. It only made Sylvain look more focused rather than irritated. “You’re performing badly for being a crest baby.”

Sylvain stopped his wielding. “Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked with a frown.

“Calling you what?”

“That. A ‘crest baby’.”

“Because you are one, stupid” Miklan sneered.

“I’m not stupid” Sylvain mumbled, feeling hurt. Miklan didn’t care. When he remained silent, Sylvain resumed practicing his lance moves. At his third jab, Miklan suddenly grabbed his lance with both hands, yanked at it hard so his brother stumbled forward, and grabbed a fist of that bright red hair in his hand and forced Sylvain to the ground.

“If you weren’t stupid,” he growled, “then you would’ve seen this coming, stupid crest baby!” Then he put some more force into his fist and pressed Sylvain’s face even harder into the ground. His six-year-old brother could only splutter his protests and after a little longer, Miklan let go of him and kicked him on his legs, hard.

Miklan’s only mistake that day was that he had done it too close to supper time. They were called to dine with their parents immediately, with no time to clean themselves, and while Sylvain hadn’t cried from Miklan’s abuse, he was still hurt and bitter. As soon as they stepped into the dining room and Margrave Gautier asked his sons what had happened, Sylvain opened his mouth to tell him exactly what Miklan had done to him.

Their father said nothing, but Miklan could see that the anger in the Margrave’s glare was different that day, and he was taken from the room with a too firm grip on his wrist. In the corner of his eyes, he saw their mother hold her youngest son protectively next to her.

Miklan protested and begged for forgiveness as his father dragged him from the dining room and to his bedchamber.

“Maybe this will teach you to not hurt the heir” his father said coolly before swinging a leather belt at him once, twice, three times or even more. The humiliation and stinging pain was something Miklan would remember for the rest of his life.

Next time he saw Sylvain, he made sure his little brother would never even dare of thinking of telling their parents of Miklan’s abuse.

* * *

He got older and smarter, and so did Sylvain. Miklan learned to not hit him in the face but only where clothes could hide the bruises, and Sylvain learned to keep them to himself to refrain from gaining more.

He watched his brother occasionally play and laugh with other, younger, children from the kingdom who he was certain were his friends only because they were blessed with crests too. His father was bright but cruel; he let Sylvain visit the Fraldarius Dukedom and the royal Blaiddyd household more frequently these days only to build a stronger relationship with the territories.

Miklan had never set his foot outside the Gautier borders.

After their visits and whenever Sylvain returned from such trips, Miklan would always make sure his brother felt at home.

* * *

“Miklan,” Sylvain whined, “can we stop? I’m thirsty.”

Their father had sent them out while he was busy with something very important, and Miklan had been forced to be stuck with his brother for hours now. His mere voice made him irritated.

“What, your crest doesn’t keep you magically hydrated?” he mocked.

“No, it doesn’t; you know that” Sylvain said, irritated. “We’ve been walking for hours now, and it’s so hot today. Please, can’t we just take a break and maybe find some water? I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Stupid crest baby.”

“Miklan...!”

“You can’t take a break and expect to find water at the same time, idiot.”

He could feel Sylvain roll his eyes behind his back. “Whatever.” No more words were exchanged and the brothers continued to tread through the woods. The lances they had brought with them for protection functioned more as walking sticks than weapons for the moment. But then, after walking for what felt like an eternity, Sylvain spotted a well.

“Hey, look! Miklan, it’s a well!”

He watched his younger brother leap with newfound energy to inspect his discovery. “There’s no bucket here... It looks abandoned. Do you think the water’s clean enough to drink?”

Miklan stepped next to him and watched him with disinterest as his brother leaned over the well’s edge to get a better look.

Then a wicked thought entered his mind.

“Well,” Miklan said, “why don’t you get down there and have a look yourself!”

With a strong and purposeful push, he made Sylvain lose his balance and fall headfirst into the well with a undignified yelp. It didn’t take long for him to hear a satisfying splash as his brother met the water’s surface and a few seconds after that, he could hear his gasps for air and coughs echo against the walls.

“ _Miklan!_ ” he managed to yell between coughs. “I could’ve _died_! What were you thinking?!”

“I wanted to help my _baby_ brother quench his thirst, that’s all!” he shouted back, feeling a grin grow on his lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll get someone to help. Just stay here.”

“Miklan-!” He could hear his arms splash more desperately against the water now that he disappeared from his view. He shouldn’t like the desperation he heard in his childish voice, but _he did_. “You better keep your promise! Miklan!”

He saw a lid to cover the well discarded nearby and picked it up. “Stop screaming, I said I’ll get someone! I couldn’t let the _heir_ drown in a well, could I?”

He stepped back to the well, and the weight of the lid reminded him that he was still holding it. He glanced at it, and a question entered his mind; why _couldn’t_ he let the Gautier heir stay here? No one knew where they had gone to. He could return home and pretend a monster had attacked them and killed Sylvain, and then his father would be forced to pay his remaining son all his attention and give back his title as heir of House Gautier. Life would be easier.

Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier?

He brought the lid up to cover the well.

“Miklan?”

He secured it with the lance Sylvain had dropped to keep his voice contained in that well.

“Miklan, no! Don’t leave me here! _Miklan!!_ ”

He repeated his name several times until his voice grew hoarse and raw and after a little while, his brother stopped screaming after him and went silent.

And that silence felt _so good_.

* * *

“What, you’ve never seen Sreng before? Let me take you there.”

“I’m not going, Miklan.”

“Why, you’re not scared, are you? Have you spent so much time with girls that you’ve become one yourself?”

Sylvain ignored his comment.

“I knew it, of course a spoiled brat like you is nothing but a pussy.”

“I’m not!” Sylvain protested and Miklan smiled. It was more fun to tease his little brother now that he was old enough to dare fighting back.

“Prove it then,” Miklan said and Sylvain looked at him with anger and confusion. That dumb kid wasn’t bright enough to see where he was leading him. “Let’s climb the mountains bordering to Sreng and then you can tell father and all those girls how brave you are.”

Sylvain looked out a window. “But it’s winter” he commented.

“So? You got clothes, don’t you?”

Sylvain hesitated and Miklan knew he was winning this game.

“Fine” he said eventually, and they hurried to grab their fur lined winter clothes and got dressed.

Miklan knew where the Gautier soldiers patrolled and purposely avoided getting too close to them. Sylvain followed him without any suspicion.

“How will they know I’ve been to Sreng?” he questioned after staying silent since they left home.

Miklan stopped walking through the snow and turned to face his brother. It took a moment for him to come up with an answer. “We’ll find something. I’ll help you look.”

“Why would _you_ help?” Sylvain asked.

“Because we’d be stuck here for days if I didn’t, stupid. And you don’t wanna come back empty handed, right?” Sylvain only frowned and began to walk again. When he got past Miklan, the older brother crouched down to make a snowball.

Miklan aimed at Sylvain and threw it. It hit his head and Sylvain stood still, dumbly, not knowing if Miklan was bullying him again not not. Another snowball hit his chest when he turned around.

“Stop moping, you brat! I’m playing with you, isn’t that what you want? Your big brother to play with you, huh?”

Sylvain glanced at the snowy ground, unsure of what to do.

“You’re fucking boring to be with, can’t even loosen up and appreciate something fun.” Miklan threw another snowball at him and then grew tired and continued up the mountain. Then, finally, he got a reaction from Sylvain.

“I hate you” he heard his brother’s voice say and was hit in the back of his head with a snowball. Miklan turned to face him, positively surprised at his brother’s actions. “I hate you,” he said again, sounding more convinced now, and threw another ball that missed him. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” he repeated with a louder voice, and Miklan stepped closer as fast as he could in the deep snow.

“I hate y-“

“Shut up, you don’t even know what hate means!” Miklan shoved his brother down and grabbed a fist of snow to press it against his face. Sylvain yelped from the freezing sensation and tried to push his brother off of him. Miklan only shoved more snow at him and tried to fill his mouth with it, his nose, anywhere he could reach, and Sylvain angrily pounded his fists against his chest and tried to swat his hands away. Miklan only laughed at his weak attempts.

Then, suddenly and without warning, the crest of Gautier activated and Sylvain managed to land a _hard_ hit on his brother’s face. In shock, both of them stopped and stared at the other. Sylvain with a heaving chest and his arm still hanging in the air, Miklan with a gloved hand against his hot face.

Angry flames ignited anew in his chest.

“You _brat!_ ” Miklan spat and Sylvain raised his arms to protect his head, but he wasn’t fast enough. Miklan punched him hard, and then he did it again, and again, and he must’ve bruised Sylvain’s lip because there was blood on the snow now, but he didn’t care.

“You wouldn’t be anything without that crest, you can’t even win over me without it! A pathetic, spoiled brat is what you are!”

Miklan came to a stop but remained seated on top of his younger brother and let him catch his breath.

“I don’t even want it” Sylvain wheezed, mostly to himself than for his brother to hear.

But Miklan did hear him. He couldn’t even appreciate everything that came with having a crest. The privilege, the power, the respect. His brother had it all, and he didn’t even appreciate it.

“Don’t you dare say that again, you spoiled piece of shit.”

But Miklan was tired of punching him and just tossed more snow at him, and Sylvain spat what little snow had entered his mouth out. It was pink now.

“Get up” he commanded and stood up. Sylvain remained still on the ground. “I said, get _up_ ” Miklan growled and Sylvain listened this time.

“You should be grateful that I’m helping you” he continued and brushed off snow from his coat and hat. It was time for the second part of his plan. “You go that way and I’ll go here. We’ll find something faster that way.” he explained, intending to slowly get further and further away from him and eventually dump him here in the mountains.

Sylvain didn’t respond and didn’t nod to tell that he understood, but Miklan knew he’d be happy to get away from him.

“And if you find anything, you call for me, but keep your voice down unless you wish to drown from an avalanche.” he warned before stepping away from his little brother.

They said nothing more to each other, and Miklan slowly got far away enough from his brother that he only became a shadow against the snow. And then it began to snow, and it was most advantageous to Miklan.

When the snowflakes were large and heavy and when the wind grew stronger, Miklan was sure that Sylvain could no longer see him and began to descend the mountain. He navigated with the help of the sun and made sure he was returning on the right side of the border. Their tracks were perfectly hidden with the new layer of snow by the time he got home.

No one asked for Sylvain until the sun set, but when no one in the Gautier estate could find him, Miklan grew irritated. Sylvain wasn’t here, yet the whole world seemed to think and speak of him.

It was only natural, he assumed, that everyone’s favorite Gautier son would be on their minds when he was missing. But Miklan would be patient, stay silent, let them search for the younger brother and then, after a day or two, they’d give up because no one could survive the freezing Faerghus winter nights for longer than that. And then, then he’d finally get what was originally his.

A title, and perhaps most importantly, his parents’ love again.

* * *

His father had let a _servant_ tell him. He hadn’t even bothered to inform his eldest son himself that he, from now on, no longer saw Miklan as his son.

Miklan pushed the servant aside and took long strides to his father’s office, ignoring the servant’s protests. Fire was in his veins and fire left his lungs when he flung the door open to let his father know a piece of his mind.

He went straight to the matter. “How _dare_ you disinherit me?!” His father looked up momentarily from the sudden intrusion, eyed his (former) son with a growing disgust showing on his face and went back to his paperwork. Miklan huffed in anger a second longer, waiting for him to say anything but the Margrave stayed silent. Ignored him completely.

“Look at me!” Miklan demanded. “You don’t even have the guts to tell me yourself, you coward!” When his father still didn’t show any signs that he was listening, Miklan slammed his hands against the desk so hard that a bottle of ink jumped. “Say something!” he demanded.

The Margrave sighed and finally put his pen to the side and a small spark of hope ignited in Miklan’s chest, but when his father finally looked up, it wasn’t at him but at the two Gautier knights who suddenly entered the room and grabbed his arms. “Take him away” he ordered them calmly.

Miklan roared. He spat, and he kicked his legs wildly in attempts to remain in the office, and it worked for a moment before the knights’ grip on his arms got tighter.

He cursed and that fire inside him grew quickly but went still when his father finally, _finally_ looked him in the eyes and spoke.

“I’m leaving you ten thousand gil, and that is all you’ll take from this House except for the clothes you wear. You’ll leave today.”

Then the Margrave watched him for a little longer as his knights dragged his former son away. The empty feeling Miklan felt in his heart mixed with the rage he felt for everything that stood for House Gautier.

That rage only grew when Sylvain stared at him from a doorway, and when Miklan strained against the knights’ vice grip and cursed his brother openly, he flinched.

Miklan grinned. He didn’t get to beat that brat to minced meat but least he had managed to get under his skin.

* * *

He hadn’t expected to see his younger brother here, not now, but _of course_ he had been sent to study at the Officers Academy. _Of course_ the Margrave had sent him there and not Miklan, despite his repeated requests.

The familiar rage grew in Miklan’s chest, but he wasn’t afraid of it; he rather welcomed it and embraced it.

He waited for his brother and his spoiled classmates to reach him; the bandits were merely a distraction for them, and he knew that. Simple bandits were barely worth fighting against for brats like his brother, professionally trained to cut down any opponent since the day they were born.

Miklan wasn’t any bandit though. He had been trained in House Gautier once, and he didn’t carry just any old weapon either. No, Miklan was holding the Lance of Ruin, a weapon that would’ve been his if it weren’t for Sylvain.

And he’d put an end to that crest baby’s life with the very same weapon.

And he was going to do it now.

His brother had become more skilled since he had last seen him, and it thrilled him to know that he no longer had to hold back. He had purposely let him think he could defeat him before showing him and his foolish classmates who Sylvain’s older brother actually was.

The rage burned within him like never before, and he took a final look at his baby brother before deciding that he had played with him for the last time.

But then a sudden, stinging pain came from his arm, and Miklan let out a surprised sound and looked down at the hand he was holding the Lance of Ruin with. Something black erupted from the stone in the Hero’s Relic, and when he tried to drop the Lance to the ground, the black matter held him tight and wouldn’t let go. It crept up his arm faster than he could react, and it wouldn’t budge when he tried to brush it off his armor.

For once in his life, Miklan was scared and he panicked.

The blackness _hurt_ and it only continued to cover him as he screamed like he had never screamed before.

His thirst for revenge felt very far away when he searched for his brother with his eyes before the matter covered those too.

Sylvain looked just as terrified as he felt.

And then everything went black.


End file.
